July 2, 2004

Blah.

Well, my parents and sister are having a lovely time in Como. They walked ten miles today according to my dad's trusty pedometer. Bob Dylan is staying at their hotel.

Last night I had one of the worst nights in recent memory. I got into bed at 7:00 and lay there motionlessly and watched The Office and was sad and decided that I hated myself. Then I fell asleep.

Then I woke up this morning and watched the outtakes from The Office again and was cheered significantly enough to step on scale after a week of counting my points in a manner that can only be called meticulous, and I weighed exactly the same as I did last week after eating like a cow for untold previous weeks on end. I contemplated mooing my way to the coffee shop for a triple grande mocha reese's heath oreo m&m cookie frappuccino or whatever special frozen and frothy beverage features large chunks of chocolate and amounts to dessert with a straw but instead I ate my cereal and veggie sausage links and headed to work and then ate my sensible lunch.

I feel a little better this afternoon.

I feel much better now that I've talked to my sister.

I ordered second row tickets for Avenue Q.

I wish I were going to my friend's rooftop party again for the 4th of July.

All I want to do this weekend is see Before Sunset, but it's not opening here this week.

I'm glad that the giant blister in between my thumb and my index finger from my lawnmower has started to heal over because trying to shower and wash dishes one-handed was getting tiresome.

The blister formed while having to push the lawnmower with all of my brute strength because the grass has been so high because it's rained every day for the past month. And I mow the grass once a week. Imagine me pushing the lawnmower. Now imagine the lawnmower remaining at a standstill. Now picture me as I wipe the sweat out of my eyes with my shirt. Now picture me pushing harder until my finger skin tears and the veins pop out of my forehead. Now picture the lawnmower moving forward one inch. Now picture me standing there helplessly as I watch approximately thirty mosquitoes descend upon my arms, legs, chest, back, and neck. Now imagine me sighing heavily, going inside to apply benadryl lotion with a cotton swab, eating a popsicle, and heading resignedly back outside to reapply apparently useless mosquito repellant and restart the mower. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And that it what it is like to mow the grass in a hot and rainy Louisiana summer when we might as well all just up and move to the rainforest because at least then we might be able to kick back and ogle a macaw or two. Although in my current mood I'd probably only attract poison-arrow frogs.


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